The Black Lotus
by Soulforger
Summary: We all know how Harry turned out living with his relatives, and we've all read about Harry being raised by Sirius, Dumbledore, or the unknown, but powerful mentor. What if this mentor was Pai Mei?


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: This just popped up suddenly in my head yesterday, and refused to leave. It's Independent! Harry, and mild Dark! Harry. Very, very slight crossover with Kill Bill (Just using a character.). To whoever bothers reviewing this: please tell me if you find any mistakes with spelling or phrase construction, English isn't my first language.

**Chapter 1: Enter the White Lotus.**

An old, strangely dressed man was leaving Privet Drive, after placing a child on his relatives' doorstep. He knew he was condemning young Harry to a difficult life and loveless childhood, but it was all for the greater good; after all, he couldn't afford to let the boy mentioned in the prophecy, the one destined to fight Voldemort, to become spoiled and pampered. That would surely turn him into something like the Malfoys, and Dumbledore didn't want that.

Sure, they would probably starve the child a little, maybe physically punish him as well, but a couple of threats and the promise of some of the Potter's gold would assure they didn't step too much out of line, and it would all serve to build moral fibre in the boy, and get him used to hardship. Albus could already see the gleeful, hopeful expression in the boys face when he was told he was a wizard and that he would go to Hogwarts; then, by being his usual caring, grandfatherly self, Albus would ensure the boy would turn to him for guidance, and turn his back on the dark forever!

It would be regretful if the boy had to be made a martyr, but if that's what it took for the world to be safe, then surely Harry would see reason and fulfil that role as well. Albus secretly suspected that Harry's scar would offer him a great opportunity to get rid of Voldemort once and for all; if the connection ran as deep as Albus suspected, then, after destroying Voldemort's horcruxes, Harry's sacrifice would ensure the final victory of the Light. Maybe the connection could even be made stronger by mentally assaulting the boy (Albus would have to think on how he could accomplish this and remain in the boy's good graces). And, of course, there was the problem that Harry would need to commit suicide, but Albus thought that Harry would be so grateful to the wizarding world and to himself, that he would gladly give his life for those that cared for him, once Albus explained exactly how Harry's death would benefit the world.

Albus popped a lemon drop into his mouth, and smiled happily. The Light would win, led by him, of course, and they would have the perfect poster-child in the figure of one Harry Potter. So happy was Dumbledore, that he already envisioned his rousing speech of love, loyalty and self-sacrifice during Harry's funeral, after the Light's final victory, when all would be well in the world. Dumbledore's musings went on, until he finally left to one of the many celebrations being held that night in Britain.

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Not far from where Harry Potter had been abandoned, was a house, about four streets away, that looked exactly like number 4, privet Drive. This was not surprising, since almost the entire neighbourhood consisted of little, respectful houses, inhabited by good, hardworking, no-nonsense people, with their perfectly manicured lawns. Number 8, Wisteria Walk, however, was an exception.

Outwards, nothing seemed out of place or abnormal; at the first sight of any kind of weirdness, the neighbours were likely to call the Bobbies, and immediately send harsh worded letters to whatever governmental organisation that would give them the time of day, stating why they should be able to live in peace, and exactly how much they paid in taxes. No, outwardly, the house was as normal as it could be. Inside, however, lived Albert Wilkes, a thirty-five year old construction worker, single, never married, having moved in about two years prior. He was a black haired man (kept at a respectable length, of course, no long haired punks would ever dare live among such prominent citizens as those of Wisteria Walk), with a nose that looked to have been smashed in, and flattened across his face. He was tall and well built, almost like a boxer, and many of his neighbours thought he broke his nose in some kind of match. He had a slightly darker complexion than that of his neighbours, that led many to suspect he was a foreigner, that and his accent, but his name was a respectable British name, so no one mentioned it.

What the prominent citizens of Wisteria Walk didn't know, however, was that Albert Wilkes was indeed a foreigner, he didn't work in the construction business, he didn't pay for his house, and he never practiced boxing in his life; his name, as well as his identity were fake. Albert had been born in Sicily as Giovanni Torini, nicknamed Tiny, and became a thug employed by a Mafia-linked _Famiglia_ early in life. Rising through the ranks of the organization, from simple thug and bouncer, to debt collector (a position that got him a hefty sum and his nose smashed), and finally to personal bodyguard to one of the Don's capos. That was as far as Tiny got, as he lacked the intelligence and the sense of business to rise further, and besides, he'd feel very uncomfortable in any job that didn't require breaking someone's legs.

The shit hit the proverbial fan when Tiny had to travel with his boss to England, overseeing a large shipment of heroin. Someone had squealed, and the entire gang and the drugs got slammed. The police promised Tiny a reduced sentence if he revealed names they were interested in, and Tiny agreed; that would be one decision he'd live to regret, as he had no life to speak off from that point forward. He got a new name, new identity, new job, a new house, and the constant company of a constable for protection.

There had been at least six attempts on Tiny's life throughout the years, not because the information he held was particularly valuable or damaging to the _Famiglia_, but out of principles; one way or the other, Tiny would realise that the Cosa Nostra was not to be fucked with, that a minor betrayal was still a betrayal, and that commitments with them were for life. The Famiglia Tiny belonged to was therefore prepared to go to great lengths to see the traitor punished; if they managed to kill him, especially after six failed attempts, it would only serve to spread their message more effectively, meaning, once you're marked, you're dead, and the time you live afterwards is borrowed time.

The Famiglia's Don, Salvatore, pulled all stops to locate and hire the best assassin; after a couple of months, his informants managed to locate the one who was probably the deadliest man alive, living in some unpronounceable mountainous region in China, Pai Mei. They managed to convince Pai Mei to accept the job of eliminating Tiny, as well as some others they needed to dispose of. At first, Pai Mei refused them, but the exorbitant sum of money they were willing to pay, combined with the challenge the Italians said it would provide him, were able to sway him.

He was understandably disappointed when the job didn't provide the challenge he expected. Not that he was expecting much in the first place, but it would have been nice to do something other than walking in, killing some scared rats and ineffectual policemen, and walk out again. Pai Mei hadn't done this kind of work in a long time, and he now wondered why he bothered in the first place. As soon as he finished off the last of the men he was supposed to kill, he would go back to China, and never leave again. So, intent on fulfilling his contract, Pai Mei went inside number 8 Wisteria Walk. Giovanni Torini, a.k.a. Tiny, a.k.a. Albert Wilkes wouldn't live through the night.

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The next morning would find a lot of activity around number 8 Wisteria Walk. Dozens of policemen invaded the place and the surrounding neighbourhood. The people that thought Albert Wilkes was as normal as them could be heard saying they 'Always knew something fishy was going on here!' The coroners went inside number eight, and soon after, two body bags, one containing Tiny's corpse, the other containing the corpse of an agent that was in charge of protecting him, came out, originating all kinds of ludicrous rumours among Tiny's former neighbours. The coroners were also baffled as to the cause of death; although foul play was certainly involved, due to it happening to two healthy people at the same time, it seemed as if they merely had cardiac arrests.

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Pai Mei, his business in Wisteria Walk concluded, started making his way to a previously agreed rendezvous point, where he would meet some of his employer's agents that would take him back to China. He was less than impressed with his employer too; anyone with a decent level of skill would have been able to finish this assignment, so there was no valid reason for six failed assassinations, and there was absolutely no need to involve someone of Pai Mei's level in this affair. Still, if the mob boss was intent on throwing away his money into Pai Mei's pockets, who was he to complain?

And it was at this moment, that Pai Mei, walking through Privet Drive, heard a child's cry; it was also at this moment that fate shovelled shit in Albus Dumbledore's face.

Curious as to who was making such noises, Pai Mei made his way to number four's lawn. He saw a small bundle of blankets with a child in the middle. There was a letter among the blankets, and Pai Mei decided to indulge his curiosity once again. While it is true that Pai Mei despised most foreign cultures (actually, he despised most non-Cantonese), that didn't mean he couldn't communicate in most well known languages, or that he couldn't read and write said languages; he just chose not to. What he read in the letter, however, puzzled him.

Not the part about the wizarding world, Pai Mei couldn't possibly live for over ten centuries, and survived countless battles, without gaining a good knowledge and understanding of the world around him. He was quite aware of the world of magic, having battled magical creatures once or twice, and even wizards who thought they could beat the living legend just because he didn't possess magic; needless to say, they quickly developed severe heart conditions. Pai Mei even knew a couple of wizards, but didn't associate with wizarding society, and had no wish to, as he considered them to be nothing more than lazy cowards who thought they could solve all of life's problems with a wave of a stick.

Pai Mei wondered what kind of idiot would leave a letter containing information about an entire hidden society out in the open; Pai Mei also wondered what kind of idiot would expect people not involved with magic to understand the letter and what it said.

He looked at the child, and at the scar on his forehead, and while Pai Mei was no wizard, he heard enough stories about cursed wounds to realise that if it couldn't be healed, then the reason it came to be in the first place, in this case this dark lord called Voldemort, still lingered in this world. There had been warriors in the past who received similar wounds, wounds that would not heal and would torment their bearers until the person or creature responsible was vanquished; Pai Mei even met a young Japanese man with a scar on his face that would not heal until the young man confronted himself in his own fractured psyche, and came to terms with his past sins.

Maybe this young one would have to confront his parents' murderer one day; it would only be proper of a son to extract revenge in his parents' name. So, ignoring the fact that these people were the boy's last living relatives, Pai Mei started wondering what it would be like to give this boy an actual fighting chance. He also wondered how the boy would turn out, to what heights he could rise, if the White Lotus himself educated him. If Pai Mei knew that by taking the boy in, he would be ruining someone's perfect plan, it would only encourage him; he often did things purely out of spite.

Finally coming to a decision, Pai Mei bent down, scooped up the boy, and left to meet his transportation. And so began the story of Harry Potter, taken from the clutches of his relatives and Albus Dumbledore by an insane, evil old man, who was also the greatest fighter in history.


End file.
